…I just so happen to feel like crap again. Its been a while since I’ve written so I figured, I might as well. It’s not as though things have been going well in my absence. This isn’t a journal type of situation. I’ve just been, for lack of a better expression, off.

I started "The War, A Way" and stopped at chapter three. It was so strong and I was so motivated, yet now I’m, back to being what I’ve forever and a day circled. I was about to say something depressing just then. Something I feel or better yet felt about my self. Something I probably still feel. But, as I’ve stated before, I don’t have the luxury anymore. The mission has already started.

I’ve been behind this whole time, waiting for some kind of bell or whistle or just anything to signal the role I’m to play. It was foolish to think it’d be that easy. A fight like this? With stakes so high? How could I have been so blind all this time?

Simple. I fell pray to the very thing that I’d been trying to escape. Getting stuck in a rut. Becoming old, no. To loose the ability to adapt. So here I am. Maybe it’s already too late. I mean really, just what the hell can I even expect to accomplish at this point? Doesn’t matter really. Never did, probably. I’m just supposed to fight.

MTL isn’t a name at all. It’s a legacy. The boundless world before us is a mere shadow of the power individuals carry within. To trust another can elevate but to trust one’s self will produce ascension. The one great truth is that everything is true. True as they are true, as true as they are lies. Disbelief, akin to time, serves solely to chronicle one moment to the next. In the end we are all merely existing, just, everywhere at once. There is a great will that guides us. It has many names. It has many faces. But in the end, it serves but one purpose. To find peace. A perversion of such that taints all who are reared has contaminated this world however. It is because of such that things that surpass the means of the rational develop. Beings that defy the false-sense of order perpetrated by man of old and upheld by those of new. Those, that pass on spawned the ether, are amalgams of the one truth that even such corruption can’t extinguish. They represent the will of life, of existence. They are the return to that pure state which all come to find in the wisdom granted by a lifetime of experience. They, like the shadow that looms, brought on by such archaic fears long forgotten, purport to influence the all that surrounds. And they progress as unaware as they are driven to an end they can neither grasp nor comprehend. The all exists within us as it does them. The only variance is acceptance. The truth will never change and they will continue on until a new dawn arises. One incapable of their necessity. The truest world, unhindered by doubt, empowered and enlightened.

So I guess it’s not as gone as I had previously assumed. Who am I kidding. It is. It’s gone. It has left me and I’m grasp at the coat tails of something else. Some other bit of inspiration. Though it may change the overall message, i think this will work. It kind of has to.

The previous post was supposed to be about how we can’t just be left alone. Everyone wants their two cents and everyone else want to give you theirs. About how I’m tired of being touched, influenced. Maybe I’ve even overstepped by saying that much. Really what it all boils down to is one simple thing.

I started this off without a title. Not exactly a new approach for me but still not something I pull out of the “woodwork” all that often either. The space-bar on this keyboard is, quite, irritating, to say the least. It’s lost the ability to smoothly make contact with the circuit board underneath and thus releases with a fairly noticeable ‘thunk.’

I guess it really bothers me so much because I’ve spent so much of my life in the shadows avoiding the prying eyes and spotlight so many seem to covet. It was never really, my thing, even though every once in a while I’d long for a little appreciation myself. I’m just having a hard time trying to focus on the purpose of this in the first place with this space-bar right now. Oh well.

So, I started this with thoughts about how my writing has developed over the years. Even to this day I follow the guidance of muses but things aren’t as easily expressed anymore. Specifically, I refer to the funny.

I miss being able to dispense with comedy on a whim. It was almost my art. I guess, that’s really it. This keyboard has killed my mood. Or perhaps I should’ve dwelled more on the topic in the first place.

I had a nice little bit stored up but decided its worth to be equivalent to the sum of every thing else I’ve written up till now. I’m trying real hard not to pander but I’m just not sure any of this will come across connecting with its namesake.

You’d never know there was a delay but that’s the whole point of this in the first place; complete transparency. I came to realize I’ve taken “pander” for granted. I looked it up and now I reflect on how many times I’ve probably come off as a pretentious prick in high school. Then again, I was probably considered as such for any number of other reasons. I still am. I have the hardest time staving off the initial dismissal of the masses whenever interaction is mandated. It’s just easier to consider them incompetent. So much time is wasted on them. Thought, wasted, and for what?

That got pretty dark pretty quickly huh? No wonder I don’t have any friends. So, the whole point of this was because I’d started using facebook as a soap box. Again. Unfortunately, tumblr’s harder to come by in this place. Restrictions.

The news wasn’t a surprise. I’m more irate that I now have to find a new venue for subterfuge. It’s hard pretending to feel normal but it works when it works and for that and hopefully only in this short span I do hope to stay blissfully ignorant.

For some reason I have the line, “Picking out my ‘fro with my fist-comb” stuck in my head. See link for source. That being said, I started a conversation with myself. Turns out, I’m still a dick. Go figure. Sad thing is that I just wrote that for the effect. I’ve consistently had conversations with myself for as long as I can remember. It’s not like I’ve ever terribly been close to anyone. Even when I DID have an abundance of “friends”.

Got distracted by something for a bit and dropped the flow. Sadly I guess that equates to the start of a new paragraph. Almost dropped another “go figure,” depressing, I know.

What was this even supposed to have been about I wonder now. Not much has changed since…oh, yesterday. Maybe I just…. Actually let me scratch this thought first.

I’m still searching for kin. The spirit kind of course. Someone or something out there that gets me. Like really, REALLY, “gets” me. So, until that days comes, I’ll continue to reach out. Nothing new with that declaration either but it just popped in all of a sudden. So, back to the random I guess.

So, just like that, everything begins to change again. I stumbled upon the innermost feeling I could find and was left no better than when I started. This isn’t a depressive rant this time. This is what’s happening here and now.

It’s easier. Accepting such a miserable truth has actually made the world so much more palatable. I don’t know why but at the moment it doesn’t interfere with the path I’ve chosen to walk so I’ll continue it. Continue it until there’s nothing left.

I’ve come to accept the fact that I’m garbage. Surprisingly it makes the day go by so much smoother. I wear it like a badge at this point. It’s my “YOLO” though “YOGFO” would be far more accurate. See? And with that I’ve tied the title to the content. Now what else is there to write?

A lot can be ascertained about a person from the way they write. I personally enjoy tumblogs that are picture heavy than not and the fact that mine is the opposite I think truly reflects that. I can’t stand myself and create things I also can’t stand. But I have to stay honest. I have to stay true to what’s inside.

This was never about gaining an audience. This was about finding that kindred. That one to prove I’m not alone. So far, no luck. So, I continue to write.

Still feeling pretty crappy. I follow enough people in the “good will” business to know that I’m doing this all wrong. Really, really wrong. I’m holding back. Isolating myself. Closing myself off from the world I’ve come to exist within and consciously pushing everything that even resembles sincerity or kindness away. I know all this and I continue to do it. I even know why.

It’s not as though it has really been all that long since the last post. Then again it would appear as though I’m giving this far more attention than any tangible outlets so, that may very well be the reason.

I’m writing again. Well, sort of. I hate myself for any number of reasons but really this focus is on the fact that without inspiration I’m no more than mute. I end up regurgitating the same crap till I’m blue in the face, go for long absences, and then eventually return to spew the same stuff all over again except it feels new because I forget due to all the time spent avoiding the issue. But that’s my whole life isn’t it?

What’s the point is really what I’m getting at. I think? I don’t know. I’m just tired I guess. I just deleted a reference to suicide. Time to call this closed.

Still feeling down. Hasn’t really gotten worse. Just don’t feel good in the slightest. Pissed off every day. The job comes first but at the end of the day I hardly have the time to pull myself back together. When this is finally over, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to take a long sabbatical if there’s any part of my psyche even left to recover.

Once again it seems like the weight of the world has begun to rest on my shoulders. The call has been made and but a new breed is necessary. A stronger, more adaptable, more intelligent breed. As greatly as things have changed however, there appears to be one requirement that never does. Will. The will to persevere. Everything else is just excess.

French tips have been ruined by porn for me. Now whenever I see a female sporting the signature style I no longer find them attractive. Maybe that’s an exaggeration. Okay, it is an exaggeration. Really, I just feel their attractiveness quotient has diminished. Nothing more, nothing less.

Digging deeper though, it’s not just that. For a while now it’s become more apparent that I never seem to find myself on the same page with women in terms of style/fashion. I see ones dawning animal print and just think tacky. Weaves/etc. and by extension [pun] eyelashes, nails (all fake), and just think, unnecessary. Same goes for makeup really. I just don’t see the point or better yet don’t see how that’s a thing.

I reminisce about simpler times. Minimal makeup because ladies, you’re already beautiful. Emphasizing one’s real hair, because unless you have an ailment or deficiency, it grows to whatever length you desire eventually.

The list could go on but the point is made. It just seems like I’m on a different page, or maybe just in the wrong era. It’s not just the media that makes people hate themselves for what they have, it’s other people. I know I don’t fit it or rather feel as though I do. Abrupt ending.

I figure I’ll try and be more consistent with titling from now on. To be honest, I don’t think I really care but then again, something-something poignant about a world/life/other such mundane metaphor with guns sans triggers and the chaos that ensues.

But what if there wasn’t chaos? No one would even notice if that’s the way it had always been.